Birds, Bees, and Even Dixons Do It
by the ramblin rose
Summary: AU/ZA Caryl. Things around the prison are buzzing and Merle takes it upon himself to give his little brother a lesson about the animal nature in everyone...even Dixons. Rated for language and possible second chapter. It features, in person, only the Dixon brothers, but carries heavy Caryl implications.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is just for fun and entertainment value, nothing more. It features, in person, only the Dixon brothers, but it has strong Caryl implications. I'm undecided, as of yet, if I'm going to keep it a one shot or if I'm going to go for a second part just for fun.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl kept at least six feet between his own steps and Merle's as they made their way down to the creek to check the trot lines and traps that had been set there. On the way back, if they were lucky, they'd bag a deer or something equally filling to drag back to the prison with them and present it to Carol to cook up for the population there.

The reason for the distance he was guarding, though, had nothing to do with the act of hunting that might or might not take place after lines and traps were checked. The distance had to do with the fact that Daryl felt every drop of Merle's "good mood" hit him like acid if he got too close to him.

Merle wasn't one that you could accuse, all that often, of being in a "good mood," but when it did happen, it seemed like he tried to make up, all at once, for every pissy mood that he'd ever been in. It made him almost all the more unlikeable because he became, to those who knew him well, very much like an alien species.

Daryl knew that Merle's current good mood had a good bit to do with a woman named "Denny," though Daryl suspected her given name was probably something more along the lines of "Denise" who had been one of the few women that they'd found and brought into the prison while out on "recruiting" runs, as they liked to refer to them, where they brought in small groups that they stumbled across to build up the strength of the prison in case they were ever to come under attack again by the madman that still wandered around out there somewhere.

Denny had taken a shine to Merle…and whether or not Merle would have ever looked at Denny twice in his life before the fall, the new way of life around them seemed to bring out a new something in Merle. And that new something was a something that was giving Denny a good deal of attention.

And in giving that attention, Merle was apparently getting attention. It was enough to have him damn near unrecognizable.

He was volunteering for shit left and right.

Need someone to go hunting? Hell…he could bag the biggest deer in Georgia with nothing more than his bayonet arm and his charming wit.

Something needs to be moved? Hell…he could move it back and forth across the prison yard sixteen times if you needed him to, single handed and singlehandedly…but only after doing a few repetitions with it in the one arm he had left.

Need something built? Well, Merle had once tried to build a lockbox that hadn't held anything, not because the lock was faulty, but because the whole damn side of the thing fell off…but he could build you three barns, a storage shed, and a nice house all before breakfast, if that's what needed to be done.

All in all, it was like having fallen head first into the Twilight Zone and Daryl didn't care much for the experience. He hated to admit that he preferred the ornery, asshole of a brother that he'd once known over the "new and improved" Merle that had Denny, and several other women actually, around the prison cooing and cawing about him, but it was true. He preferred a Merle that he understood. And this one? This one baffled the hell out of him.

"Keep up, Derlina," Merle called back at him, breaking his whistling and his almost dancing step only long enough to toss back the words and to fuck with a Walker that was coming to greet them.

"Stop taunting that damn thing and kill it before it bites ya fuckin' head off," Daryl growled at Merle who was seeming to enjoy the strange game of "tag" that he was creating with the Walker that he could have killed six times over by now.

Merle laughed at him and slammed the bayonet arm through the skull. He pushed the Walker off and cleaned the blade on the Walker's clothes before he turned around, his good hand popped onto his hip for the moment.

"What the hell's got in your underbritches?" Merle asked, smirking at Daryl.

"Your damn attitude," Daryl growled back. "Stop fuckin' actin' like an idiot. I'm about ready to wring your damn neck."

The real Merle would have jumped at him. The real Merle would have come lunging toward him looking for a fight. The real Merle would have dared him to try to wring the neck that he threatened.

Merle the Jolly Green Giant, however, did none of these things. He shifted his weight, but no more than he normally would from standing in an uncomfortable position, shifted the empty sacks he was carrying over his shoulder to steady them more in their location, and then he laughed. He laughed at Daryl for cussing him, calling him an idiot, and threatening him.

"What the fuck, Daryl?" Merle responded, still seemingly amused. "I don't think it's what the hell's got into ya britches…think it's what the hell ain't got out."

Merle chuckled to himself and turned, now heading once again in the direction they were supposed to be travelling.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Daryl called out to him.

Another amused laugh from the asshole. He didn't give any response, though, until they'd reached the water and he'd begun to locate the markers they'd put down to let them know where their lines were.

"Look around ya, Derlina," Merle commented, tugging up the lines and wading into the water. Apparently he was cleaning them off, so Daryl kept his spot on the edge of the creek to catch the fish that his brother flung in his direction and put them in the sack they were carrying them back in. "World just thawin' out…this water's still cold enough got my damn nuts drawed up into my body…it's the time a' year for ruttin'. Everything around is chasin' some tail right now. Just damn natural."

Daryl fumbled after one of the fish that Merle picked off a hook and flung in his direction so that it would flop around on the dirt until Daryl caught it.

Before his brother could finish his inspirational speech, Daryl took the plunge into the still icy water to switch off with him.

"Get'cha ass on the bank," Daryl commented. "You gonna cut the lines and I'm ten times faster'n you is at this."

Merle chuckled at him once more, but didn't argue. He dropped the line so that Daryl scrambled to catch it before it sunk, and made his way up the bank to be the "catcher" in this game.

"See," Merle continued, once he was on the bank and Daryl was the one wrestling fish off the line that were slowly coming to the realization that this was the end for them and therefore were fighting him with all they had, "this is the time a' year all the lil' boy animals go walkin' around, struttin' their shit, showin' off what the hell they got so they lil' girl animals gonna notice 'em. Then…hell…they gotta fuck like there's no tomorrow 'cause they gotta keep the species alive. It's called a natural cycle. Everything does it…don't all do it the same time of year…but they do it. Wired into ya brain. Gotta be done."

Daryl rolled his eyes at Merle's "lessons". Merle had probably attended less than a fourth of the required days of any given school year that he'd ever bothered even showing up for. Yet, he'd been a man who had liked, for whatever reason, to saturate his beer with brain or other substances and sit his fat ass on the couch and watch Discovery Channel. Even when they didn't have cable, Merle could almost always find some kind of educational shit using the tried and true antenna wrapped three hundred times over with aluminum foil.

But for all the watching of the shows he did, he probably only got half of the information out of them. Yet he still insisted on speaking about everything as though he were a true scholar on the subject…after all, all the great minds got the brunt of their education while completely wasted out of their mind and munching on Cheetos, taking what they could between the scrambled sounds and squiggly lines of half broken televisions…didn't they?

"That's animals," Daryl said. "People ain't animals, Merle. Besides…I don't think it even works that way. Wrong damn time for ruttin' anyway."

Merle hummed at him and went after a stray fish as Daryl finished the one line and moved down stream a little toward another line that was marked with the broken sticks poking out of the ground. He found it, cursed the hook that cut his finger when he was searching for it, and started to pick off what they'd caught there.

"Speak for yaself, brother," Merle mused, moving their supplies down the bank to match Daryl's in-water movements. "Me? Myself…I'm findin' it's the perfect damn time for ruttin'…hell…I'm ruttin' around just about anywhere I can…mmm hmmm…if ya know what I mean."

Daryl looked at Merle and rolled his eyes at the stare that Merle was holding on him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Merle laughed at the reaction he got.

"And I think ya do, brother," Merle added in something of a sing songy tone.

"Just because you gettin' laid don't mean the whole damn animal kingdom's rejoicing," Daryl retorted. "And it don't mean that it's some kinda second nature to everyone who ever lived to carry on like you been you carryin' on."

"You might be right," Merle ceded. "But just 'cause you ain't don't mean can't nobody else enjoy what the hell they got. Besides, if your balls is bluer than a polar bear's balls, it ain't nobody's fault but'cha own, lil' brother. There's more'n one hen set for layin' at that prison. You just got to rooster up an' show off ya damn tail feathers."

Finishing the trot lines, Daryl dropped the lines back in the water to hopefully snag another fish or two in the next twenty four hours. Without responding to Merle he sloshed his way back up the side of the creek and onto the bank, shivering at the cold of his soaked pants. His balls probably were blue now, but not necessarily for the reason that Merle was suggesting. He walked, holding his pants up so that the weight of the water didn't pull them down, while they drip dried enough to stay in place on their own.

Merle followed him to the traps they'd set, gathering out the live rabbits to go in one bag, the bag they'd use to populate their rabbit hutches, and Daryl set about butchering those who had panicked and managed to hurt themselves beyond a state of repair to put in another bag, cursing quietly again when he cut his hand on the sharp points of the poorly wrapped barbed wire traps.

"These rabbits," Merle commented. "They gon' have the right damn idea."

He held one of the bucks up by its ears, one hand under its ass to keep it from screaming and riling the others up even more, and examined. Merle laughed at the rabbit who didn't look as thoroughly terrified of his condition as he could have.

"Yessir…this lil' fucker right here? Look at 'im, Daryl. This lil' fucker done took inventory of every one a' them fine fluffy asses he's gonna service soon as he gets back to the prison. Lookin' mighty damn happy…but that's 'cause he's got basic damn good sense. This lil' fucker knows they is does to be had," Merle continued.

Daryl sulked over his brother's monologue about the breeding habits of the rabbits that supplied most of their food because, rain or shine, in their rabbit hutch they didn't care and they were constantly reproducing at an alarming rate.

Daryl told himself, though, that he wasn't the type to get all involved in the "mating rituals" of the prison. He told himself that he didn't need that. He wasn't the kind to make an ass out of himself simply trying to impress some woman and get her attention. There were more important things in the world than chasing tail and he wasn't going to waste his time on it.

Besides…it wasn't a sure bet. That buck, he knew it was a sure bet that he was going to get the attention of the does that were crammed into his little prison with him. But sometimes the hen pecked the rooster until he gave up the fight.

And people could be even less predictable than the animal kingdom. Daryl was a proud man, and he wasn't one for letting his pride get hurt over something as absolutely useless, after all, as a shot at getting laid.

Traps emptied and reset in total silence, except for Merle's occasional hum as he let out his cheery ass mood or his occasional chuckle at something probably disgusting and inappropriate that trickled through his mind, Daryl gathered up the bags that he would carry back and slung them rougher over his shoulder than the live rabbits probably appreciated.

Deer forgotten, he started the trek back toward the prison, Merle humming along and following behind him, keeping less distance between them than Daryl had when he brought up the rear.

"You know, I ain't tryin' to stick my nose in ya business, lil' brother," Merle called out, knowing that he was doing just that, "but I'm just throwin' it out there…might not be no does back at the prison interested in your dirty little white ass…but I got me a hunch…just if you was thinkin' about it…might be a mouse or so runnin' around and checkin' out the tail feathers of a Dixon that's fit for mounting…"

Daryl stopped in his tracks and turned around, coming face to face with the curling grin of his brother. Infuriatingly enough, Merle didn't offer any more words at the moment…just that stupid, shit eating grin.

"What the hell do you know, anyway?" Daryl spat at him.

Merle's grin widened ever so slightly.

"I know that hens cluck…an' they love cluckin' 'bout the roosters scratchin' and peckin' around," Merle said.

Daryl felt his stomach churn slightly. He knew Merle well enough that he knew exactly what he was talking about. What surprised him, though, was that his brother would think to say it.

"I don't know what the hell you talkin' about," Daryl muttered, turning and starting to take a few more steps in the direction of their destination.

"I think ya do," Merle called out, changing his own stride to catch up with Daryl. "I think ya know exactly what the hell I'm talkin' about. Ya big brother ain't blind, and ole Merle here…he knows what's goin' on. I see the mouse checkin' you out alright…yeah…heard her too…but I seen you sneakin' around to get yourself a peek. You want yaself a better peak, though, you gotta man up and show her what the hell you got to offer."

Daryl kept walking. It was just the thought of that which had kept him from making any sort of move so far. He hadn't done a thing or said a thing because he felt, every time he talked himself into it, like he was almost immobilized as soon as he actually reached Carol and tried to strike up any kind of conversation.

He could get her attention. He could let her know he wanted to talk to her. He could even have some kind of stupid ass conversation about the weather or Walkers or runs…but if he ever tried to go anywhere else…if he ever dared to say he had something to ask her, or show her, or say to her…anything he'd ever thought would be the "perfect" "opening line" for anything…he clammed up bigger than shit and he couldn't do anything besides choke on his own tongue. And it usually ended badly…it usually ended with him being able to do nothing more than something he might have done on the playground. He'd bumped her and nearly tripped her at least fifteen times…it was the only touch he could bring himself to steal from her. The only thing he hadn't done, and he was thankful to whatever god it was that watched out for that sort of thing and made sure he didn't do something so stupid and childish, was pull her hair and run away.

He didn't know if he'd ever get over the hump of "manning up" and saying what was always on the tip of his tongue. So he'd dealt with it the only way that he'd known how. He'd avoided saying it, got out his frustration in other ways, and tried to convince himself that he wasn't lying awake in his bunk at night and deciding he was going straight to hell for the things he thought about her…and the things he did while he thought about her…while she slept peacefully, completely unaware and probably entirely disinterested, just a few cells down.

"Ya know, though," Merle continued, his voice drifting into Daryl's ears and the sound causing the same type of irritation as the hum of a gnat, "you ain't the only rooster left in that place. And other people? They done noticed the mouse…hell…I done noticed her, but I got respect for the fact you too damn chicken shit to do nothin'…but them? They don't, Derlina. You serious about it, best get a move on…'less you wanna lay awake at night and hear the sweet, sweet sound a' some other dick that knowed what the hell ta do with his balls layin' it hard to ya sweet lil' mouse."

Daryl stopped again, turning abruptly once more, and this time his brother, looking down at his boots and not at the person he was heckling, didn't anticipate the stop and ran straight into him.

Merle backed up, laughing.

"What? You gon' tell me you didn't think that all them sniffin' around her was eventually gonna make a move? Ain't all men as chicken as you is," Merle said. "You wanna stop it…might better hurry on back to the prison. Could get back and find out she's been tendin' more'n that baby…"

Daryl started to respond, but Merle's infuriating grin stopped him for a moment and Merle took that as an opportunity to wink at him and continue speaking.

"You done got yaself pretty damn chewed up today, Derlina," Merle commented. "Might see if she got time to put a couple bandaids on ya boo boos…might see if she's got an interest in helpin' ya with somethin' else if it's hurtin' too."

Merle hummed at him, offered him another of the shit eating grins that he'd been throwing at him throughout the conversation, and sped up his steps, walking right past Daryl and back toward the prison at a faster rate than they'd been travelling.

Daryl started walking again, an odd feeling stirring around inside him as he considered all that Merle had said…and he rehearsed in his head, just to see how easy it might be, of course, the ways in which he might present to Carol exactly the "medical emergency" that his brother had suggested.

"Of course," Merle called back, "ain't none a' my business…"

He looked back over his shoulder at Daryl who was lagging behind for all his thoughts.

"Hell, keep up Derlina," Merle called. "You always was the slow damn one."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Happy Saturday! I had to write the second part of this if for nothing more than to address two errors from the last part, LOL. First "saturate his beer with brain"? You can see what happened there. Happens all the time for me. I have a hard time noticing. And second? There was a moment where Merle had two hands. Sorry. Sometimes it's hard for my brain to comprehend that he's dead and that he lost a hand before that. Whoops. I'm sure there's plenty more where that came from…**

**Anyway, here's part two. It must be "smuffy Saturday". Again, this is just for fun, not really good for anything else. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl made it back to the prison, chewing over what his brother had said, and passed Merle the sacks of live rabbits so that he could take them to make them a new home where they'd do what they were intended to do and start producing more of a food supply for the people that were beginning to overpopulate the prison in the same way the rabbits were overpopulating their pens and requiring more space.

Merle accepted the sacks and traded Daryl to take the things that would need to be cleaned for supper.

"You…uh…need a hand with anything?" Merle asked, keeping his voice low. "You gonna be a big boy about shit?"

Daryl gave Merle a warning look.

The only way he'd ever really known to combat his feelings when he got embarrassed or overwhelmed was to transfer those emotions right on over to something else, and that something else was usually a sort of fabricated anger that he eventually came to believe was real anger, whether it was true or not.

"Get your damn nose outta my business…fuck! Ain't you got enough to worry about?" Daryl snapped back at his brother.

Merle chuckled and nodded.

"Alright then," he commented. "Better get them cuts tended. Looks like Mouse is over there near her lil' mouse hole of a storage shed…she'll be waitin' to see what you wrestled up to eat."

Merle winked at Daryl and Daryl sharply turned and took his leave of his brother's facial expression and amusement.

He tried to rehearse for himself what he might say or what he might do. He might not feel very confident going right up to Carol, in the same fashion that he knew Merle had made his intentions clear with Denny, and laying it on the table that he wanted something a little more _physical_ with her, but he could already see, feet away, that Tyreese was carrying wood for Carol and the others that were on cooking and cleaning duty, and whatever the hell he had to say must have been pretty damn funny.

And thinking about what Merle had said earlier raised the hair on the back of his neck. If Merle's metaphors were right, there were foxes nosing around the chicken coop and Daryl didn't really appreciate that one bit. He might have failed to mark his territory in any way, but that didn't mean that he didn't at least half ass think that everyone should know and respect that he was getting to it…eventually.

Daryl dropped the sacks of animals to be cooked hard on the ground when he got close to where Carol was now listening to something Tyreese was saying and sorting through a cardboard box of odds and ends thing that she probably anticipated needing for the preparation of the meal.

He heard Beth, sitting close by with Judith, speak to him, but Daryl couldn't bring himself to respond. Now that he was determined and focused, he couldn't risk anything breaking that concentration. If it did, this might be the fateful day that he actually _did_ pull Carol's hair and run away…and that might just be the final nail in the coffin.

He took a few steps closer, shouldering in now on the conversation that was taking place, a conversation of which he hadn't heard a single word. He moved his body directly between Carol and Tyreese, effectively ending the chat so that when Carol glanced up from what she was doing to make eye contact with the man again she was staring directly at Daryl.

She stopped a moment, tried to look around Daryl, and then furrowed her brow at him.

"Something wrong?" Carol asked.

"I brought fish and rabbits," Daryl said blankly.

Yep. This was going to go beautifully. It was going to go so well that he had to strain his muscles against their learned reaction of simply turning now and walking away to kick himself all over the prison yard over the fact that he seemed to have some absolute mental wall that made it impossible to sound, when he tried to talk seriously to Carol, like he had the sense not to light himself on fire.

Carol smiled at him warmly, though.

"Thank you," she cooed. "We'll have a good meal tonight."

Daryl nodded. He nodded because he couldn't figure out what to say now. It felt like he was waiting to be dismissed…but then his gut burned because he realized that if he was waiting to be dismissed, it was simply so that Carol could continue the conversation that she'd been having with Tyreese who was waiting him out.

No. That wasn't how this was going to happen.

Daryl cleared his throat and forced his brain to continue working even though it was pleading to him to shut down and think about anything…holes in the roof that didn't need to be repaired…except more words to say to Carol.

"I need ya help," Daryl said. He held up his hands, much of the blood from the pricks and cuts dried already, but crusted over with the dirt he'd gathered along the way. He was happy that they looked, at the moment, probably much worse than they actually were.

Carol looked at his hands, stopped what she was only pretending to do at this point, and walked the short distance over to where he was, taking one of them in her hands.

Her hands were so much smaller than his. And even though her hands got dried and cracked sometimes from the constant cleaning she did to them and to other things, they were still softer than his. He liked looking at them, and he liked when her hands were on his like they were now, studying over something.

"Ty? You'll excuse us?" Carol asked.

But the man had obviously given up already on whatever he had been talking about. He mumbled something, made another sound that registered on the same scale as a grunt, and took his leave of them to go and do something else. And Daryl bit back a smile at having, at least for the time being, run him off.

Carol gave some instructions that someone should start cleaning the food in the sacks for preparation, and she slipped one of her hands into Daryl's as naturally as he could have ever wished, and pulled him away from where they were standing, toward one of the sheds that they'd put up over the winter to house supplies and create "organizational" spaces for Carol to store all the things that she used and needed to keep everything in the air that she seemed to have taken it upon herself to juggle.

In this particular one, the one where they were headed, Daryl knew they kept supplies for medical treatment. They had gone on runs to get a pretty large variety of things, but luckily they'd been fortunate enough not to need anything for really serious problems.

"Grab that bucket?" Carol asked, gesturing to a line of buckets full of clean water that she'd likely spent her morning overseeing as they boiled.

Daryl didn't break the hold she had on his hand, but he grabbed the bucket with the other and followed her into the shed.

Carol lit three lamps that were on the table in there, the table that so many of them dreaded because she'd sewed them all up with a need and thread there at least once, and illuminated the space before she closed the door and gave them some privacy.

"Have a seat?" Carol said. Daryl couldn't really tell if she was directing him or asking him. He took a seat regardless and watched as she poured water into various bowls for her "doctoring" needs.

She came with the bowls to the table and sat down near him, sliding her chair so that her knees touched his. Daryl focused on that so hard that he barely even noticed the sting as she took one of his hands and started to wash it in one of the bowls with soap.

He hissed at it when he did recognize the sting, though, coming through the numbness that the touch of her knee had brought.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Burns," he offered.

She rinsed the hand and pursed her lips, blowing gently in the direction of it, the light breeze it created cooling his wet hand. The look of her lips, pursed like that, worked to create the same kind of numbness that the touch of her knee had earlier. Swallowing was harder for Daryl now than letting her keep dominion over his throbbing hand.

She reached for the other hand and he let her wash it just as she had with the first, the promise of the blowing on it keeping back the sting.

And then she examined them once they were clean.

"These aren't too bad, actually," Carol said. "No stitches, I don't think. I'll just clean them up, disinfect them…a few bandages and you'll be good to go."

Go. Go was exactly what he was trying not to do. Go was everything that he didn't want to do.

He tried to get anything out. He wanted his offer to come across as something nice…something a woman who liked flowers so much, something a woman who liked when he offered her something like a particularly soft blanket or garment that he'd found on a run…something a woman like her would appreciate and find just as pleasing to the senses.

But as soon as he forced his brain to override his mouth and spit out the trickle of words, he realized that Dixons might be able to do a lot of things, but spout beautiful words wasn't one of them.

"That ain't all I got I thought you could tend…" he spat.

Where the hell did that come from?

_Merle. Daryl could hear his fucking brother laughing even though the asshole was probably all the way across the prison yard. And now Carol was looking at him and there was no damn way out of this one…a million sputtered apologies and a complete inability to think of a single other line that might even get her attention and there was no damn way to make this come off as anything less than…Merle._

"What's wrong?" Carol asked, abandoning his hands and furrowing her brow in genuine concern. Because Carol thought he was hurt. Carol thought there was something she could do for him…she had no idea that what he wanted her to do for him was take her pants off and come sit on his lap…just like Merle would suggest.

Daryl thought he might die. No…he wanted to die. There was a distinct difference. Dying would be super convenient in the moment and therefore he had absolutely no hope of it actually happening.

But he'd already started the hole, he might as well go ahead and dig his grave.

So he channeled his inner Merle, said a small curse that he even had one from living in such close proximity to the bastard for so long, and rolled his hand to take hers in his…and then he did what she would never let him live down for the next twenty or so years of his life…and he put her hand on his pants, just where she could feel that he was already growing hard just from focusing too long on the pursing of her lips while she blew on his cuts.

And he kicked himself, even as he saw her eyes go wide and then drop to normal again, and even as she blushed red in the dancing light provided by the three competing lamps.

"Oh," she said, and it came out as nothing…not disgusted, not pleased…nothing. But he didn't know what he expected. And she didn't move her hand.

She looked at him and he watched her tongue flick out to dampen her lips while her eyes danced, showing that she was searching for a way to respond. He didn't mean to, but he chuckled to himself, wondering if she too had an inner Merle.

She grinned at him, narrowing her eyes with the chuckle that escaped him. Something about the grin did something to loosen up the tightness in his chest and throat and he found his voice hiding in there. The grin did something to break up the nerves.

"Merle…he uh…helped me?" Daryl offered. He shook his head, now the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment flooding his system. "Sorry…I got nothin' better."

Carol surprised him by shifting her hand and cupping him through his pants, her fingertips searching out the form beneath and making him grow harder against her and groan at the cloth covered touch.

"I think this is pretty good," she commented, the grin not entirely leaving her lips.

"You ain't gonna tell me to get my ass outta here?" Daryl asked.

Carol stared coolly at him for a moment and then shook her head slightly.

"Not unless you want to go," she offered.

All he could offer as a response was the shake of his head.

She stood up.

"What do you want, Daryl?" She asked. "I've been trying to get you in a shed for a long time…so what do you want?"

The confession that she wanted him here as bad as he wanted to be here…well, maybe not _here_ exactly, but it would do…got Daryl to his feet. He crossed the distance between them and dared now to touch her face with stiff fingers. She leaned toward him and he brought their lips together. At first they kissed close mouthed, like the very first kiss he'd ever had, and then she prodded his lips with her tongue like knocking on a door and requesting entrance. He granted her the entrance and ran his tongue against hers, a shock running through him when she groaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around him, her hands going against his back and her fingertips digging in there.

The feeling that surged through him then, the confident feeling of knowing that she, searching him out the way she was in the moment, wanted him as much as he wanted her, made him barely able to even keep decent pace as they were.

He pulled away from her, almost echoing the slight whimper that escaped her when he broke the kiss. She looked at him like she'd been betrayed…she looked at him like she thought he was going to say that they should go, that this had been a mistake. And he realized then just how long he'd been engaging in the "playing" with her that never came to more than that.

Daryl looked around, but the shed didn't offer too much in the way of comfort. He doubted, though, that she minded too much. Finally, he gestured with his head toward the corner where there were at least several boxes of miscellaneous cloth items and such tucked out of the way for making bandages and anything else they'd need cloth that was no longer fit to make clothes with.

"That OK?" He asked.

Her response wasn't verbal. Her response was to pull fully away from him and yank her shirt and tattered tank top that served as a bra over her head, leaving him wide eyed at the reveal. Her further response was to start, even as she walked to the corner, to come out of her pants.

And Daryl stood there a moment, all of it crashing down inside of him, so many thoughts running into one another. He chuckled again, starting to come out of his own clothes since her cards were on the table.

"I weren't goin' nowhere," he offered, working to kick off his boots and cursing the fact that they stayed on so well when he wanted them off.

"I still have to make supper," Carol offered. "And there's still water to be brought up and boiled…and Judith…"

"And other damn people can do some shit…hell…don't wanna pop your balloon, but this ain't gonna take me that damn long," Daryl spat out. "You can stay an' play as long as you want, though."

Her laugh rang through the small space as she adjusted herself on the pile, crushing boxes as she went and seeming not to notice nor to care.

The way she displayed herself took Daryl's breath away for a moment. She opened herself up to him like laying open a gift. If he'd had any doubts before that she was interested, there were none now. Finally ridding himself of the shackles of his own clothes, he came and settled on top of her, mindful of how hard he pressed down on her as the pile shifted and settled further, and for a few moments he simply enjoyed the sensation of her soft skin against his body…her belly against him, her breasts pressing into him, nipples already harder in sensation to the rest of her, the sides of her feet rubbing on his calves as she tangled herself into him.

After a moment of simply not even wanting to move, not wanting to lose that contact, Carol seemed to grow anxious and she pulled his face back to hers, kissing him again. The kiss broke the magic of the sensory contact and Daryl lifted himself up and dared to fondle one of her breasts, admiring her nipped as he pinched it in the joint between his thumb and finger and then rolled his fingers down. She clawed at him and arched her back, letting out a groan. So he flicked the tip of his tongue against it to get more from her and then moved to take it into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue in the same manner.

And for a few moments he lingered there, going to the other breast to tease it in the same way, and she squirmed and lashed against him, the movement of her legs growing a little rougher against his own.

One of his fingers found her slick and wet and waiting and at the touch she seemed to think that he needed a little more prodding along because she reached down and her fingers wrapped around him.

He took the initiative, then, to bring them together and he stilled when she wrapped her legs around him, holding him in place, until she moved against him and prodded him into giving into all the things that he'd dreamed about doing when he was alone in his bunk and thinking about her sleeping just a few cells over.

And dirty and cluttered shed or not, and whether or not they had nothing more for a bed than crushed cardboard boxes of clothing scraps, Daryl couldn't have dreamed up a more perfect thing what was happening there. His whole body burned with desire and his muscles felt deliciously strained as he worked to gain each and every sound from her like he was trying to earn water to keep from dying of thirst.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

It hadn't been easy coming up with a billion different little jobs that needed to be tended too immediately so that he could run every damn person out of the area. Merle had to stoop to some new lows and create a few minor disturbances and messes that he could send people scurrying off to fix…but at least they were all really reparable with a little effort. He'd finally gotten, though, every last fucker off doing something so they wouldn't be close enough to the "love shack" to hear what the hell was going down in there…since it sounded about like two cats fighting over territory…and so they wouldn't go snooping around and fuck things up until all the squalling and howling was over.

Merle himself, had he not known what was happening, might have even gone in there trying to figure out if someone was dying.

But he had a pretty good inclination it wasn't pain that was causing the sounds…he had a pretty good inclination that it was simply the sound of some kind of a satisfaction that was far too long coming.

So now that he was the only one in the area, and since his stomach was beginning to growl and the head cook was otherwise "occupied," he was cleaning rabbits and fish to be ready for her to cook when she stumbled out of that shack…probably walking around on legs that would make her look like a newborn calf for a little while.

Merle saw Glenn walking toward him, his head tipped slightly to the side like someone who wasn't used to following sounds trying to locate one, and he barked at Glenn.

"Ain't you got shit to do, short stack?" Merle barked out.

Glenn's brow was furrowed.

"What is that sound?" Glenn asked.

"Got damn jobs gotta be done an' you walkin' around wastin' the whole damn day?" Merle barked. "Fuck…know you got some damn shit you oughta be doin' so why the hell don't you get the fuck outta here?"

Glenn looked at him, shook his head absentmindedly, and tipped it once more in an effort to use his ears as some kind of satellite to guide him.

"What is that sound?" He repeated.

Merle chuckled to himself and wiped his forehead with his forearm, not wanting to splatter his face with the mess on his hand.

"That there's the sound of two Dixons makin' love, sweet love," Merle said with a chuckle.

Glenn looked at him, half confused and then somewhat wide eyed. Merle chuckled again.

"Get the fuck outta here," he spat once more. "You gonna get the chance to hear it all you want…you ain't got shit to do, might wanna go an' find somethin' to grease the damn cot springs…else ain't no damn body gonna get no sleep around this place."


End file.
